Final Roll
The fog did not lift from Blackhollow Manor. It thickened. It pressed against the stained-glass windows like a living thing, patient and hungry. Arthur Blackwood stood in the foyer, his father\'s pocket watch heavy in his vest pocket. It was the only thing he had left that was not mortgaged, not pledged, not promised to some creditor whose name he no longer remembered. The watch had belonged to...
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